Royal Blues
by MissTempleton
Summary: Jack has to leave town and won't say why. Phryne's disconsolate, until an old friend sails into view.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

"Don't sulk, Miss Fisher, it doesn't become you."

"But _why_ can't you tell me, Jack? I'm your wife, I've a right to know where you're going."

"I've already explained. It's a confidential assignment, and it's a specific instruction from the Chief Commissioner. No-one is to know."

He wrapped his arms round her, although she was less than usually responsive; her arms remained folded and her face cast down.

"Come on, Phryne. It won't be for long," he whispered coaxingly.

"How long?"

"Hard to say, but not more than a week, I shouldn't think."

"A _week_? What if something happens to us? If Elizabeth falls ill? How do I get word to you?"

"Nothing will happen. If it does, leave a message at the Chief's office and they will know how to reach me." He pulled her inexorably closer, so that her face was buried in his shoulder; the disadvantage was that her next words were an incoherent mumble.

"What did you say?"

"I said I'll miss you. We've scarcely been apart since we came back from England."

How times had changed, he reflected. He used to worry that she could too easily do without his presence; now he was having to deal with the fact that she couldn't, or wouldn't easily accept his absence.

He tipped her chin up with his finger, and scanned her eyes.

"I'll miss you too."

A ghost of a kiss.

"What time do you have to leave?"

"Before first light, I'm afraid."

"Early night, then?"

"Is now too soon?"

"I suddenly find myself exhausted, Inspector. Perhaps you could come and tuck me in."

"On condition that you tuck me in as well, Miss Fisher."

"Very well then. Now, come along, drink up your medicine."

"Do you mean the amber-coloured forty percent proof medicine? I think I'll bring it with me, Nurse, if it's all the same to you."

"Bring the bottle, Jack. Bring the whole bottle."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Not even the nursery was stirring when Detective Chief Inspector Jack Robinson crept out of the house the following morning. If his head ached a little more than was desirable, he could at least relax in comfort in the back of the car sent to fetch him, such was the luxury afforded his exalted rank; and he also felt marginally more reassured that Mrs Robinson was reconciled to his absence.

Certainly, when Soo brought her morning coffee and croissants several hours later, Mrs Robinson was showing every sign of coping with her solitary state. She perused the morning newspapers while Soo drifted around the room collecting garments from the places they had been randomly strewn the previous evening.

"There must be _something_ in here for Fisher & Williams to look into, Soo," she remarked, scanning the pages. The main items, though, were tediously political. A minor royal was to visit Sydney and the leftists were up in arms. Another strike was being threatened at the Melbourne dockyards.

"Oh, how lovely!" exclaimed Phryne as she gave up on the news and turned to the society pages. "Look, Soo – it's the _Strathaird_. That's the boat Jack and I sailed on when we came back from England. She's docked in Melbourne for a few days for repairs. I wonder if it's still Captain Hollister? Yes! Here we are. 'The _Strathaird_ , under her master Captain James Hollister, will remain in harbour until at least Tuesday next for essential maintenance.' Well, that settles it. I'll have to get him to come over for dinner. What a pity Jack's missed him!"

Newly energised, she flung the paper away and leaped out of bed. Notepaper and pen were deployed with a flourish, and Mr Butler dispatched with a request that he deliver it to the ship personally and await a reply. In the meantime, 'A Life on the Ocean Wave' was the ditty of choice to accompany Miss Fisher's ablutions.

Within the hour, the reply had come to say that the Captain would be honoured to accept Miss Fisher's invitation for the following evening, and looked forward to seeing her driver on the dockside as suggested. The remainder of Phryne's day was spent in planning a suitably elaborate, and emphatically landlocked meal for a gentleman who, she well knew, would be heartily sick of fish.

She also looked forward to sharing news; the last time she and Jack had seen Hollister had been when solving a particularly heart-breaking murder on his ship. He had, perforce, discovered that their married state was only a convenient cover, but far from judging and ostracising them, had ignored the potential scandal – albeit politely offering to correct what he perceived as a deficiency if they felt so inclined.

They had not, then, taken up the offer; but she was very much looking forward to bringing him up to date. In fact, she decided that she was so impatient that she would fetch him herself, and duly set forth in the Hispano the following evening. The docks were deserted, but she was allowed through the gate with the magical mention of the Captain's name, and pulled up in the shadow of the beautiful liner. She switched off the engine and indulged a blissful minute recalling her recent voyages with this particularly beautiful "White Sister"; then stepped out of the car.

As she approached the ship, she heard in the stillness of the night a door opening, to let out a burst of chatter before it slammed shut again. The ship might be bare of paying passengers, but she was nonetheless at least a little occupied, apparently. Scanning the ship's mountainous side in search of the sound, Phryne's eye was caught by a flash of light; but it disappeared as soon as it had appeared, and the next moment, the entire dockside was plunged into darkness – some kind of power failure had killed every lamp and street light. The ship itself was, she now realised, mostly unlit on its lower levels, with only the obligatory riding lights clearly visible and the occasional illumination from isolated salons on the upper decks; all the lighting on the dockside seemed to have failed. The night was cloudy, so not even the moon offered assistance.

For a moment, Phryne stood stock still, trying to get her bearings once more as her eyes became accustomed to the sudden blackness. As she did so, there was a thump, and a splash, only a matter of yards from where she was standing. In a desperate effort to regain night vision, she closed one eye altogether for a few vital seconds, and spun on her heel in as close to a half-circle as she could guess.

Opening her eye again, she made out the ghost of the Hispano and, striding back towards it, Phryne turned the headlights back on, and dug a torch out of the glove compartment. As she did so, there was a clatter of shoes coming down the gangplank, and she looked up to see the figure of a man running along it with more speed than care. He grabbed the end post with the hand which didn't contain a torch, and sprinted across the tarmac to the point where the splash had sounded, now illuminated by the car headlights. She saw first a familiar profile; then, as the man looked up, squinting against the bright light, a well-loved face that she'd thought was miles away.

" _JACK!?_ "


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

So far from expressing his delight at seeing his One True Love, Jack rolled his eyes, and ignored her, edging towards the dockside and shining his torch downwards.

"Jack? What's going on?"

In response she received only an indiscriminate curse at what he'd seen. Promisingly, though, her husband then started taking his clothes off.

"Jack, darling, I'm delighted to see you, too, but please let me at least switch off the headlights before you take off your trousers ... oh!"

This because (trousers intact, but overcoat, hat, coat, waistcoat and shoes all dispensed with) he ran to a nearby ladder and started to descend to water level. Peering over the edge of the dock, she saw him swimming towards a body, floating face down in the water in the gap between dock and ship. When he reached it, he flipped it onto its back and towed it to the ladder, before pausing for breath – both his own and one for his burden, which he then unceremoniously dragged across his shoulder and carried up the ladder.

Phryne had little else to do but admire the view of her husband demonstrating almost superhuman strength – so she grasped the opportunity dutifully, before also grasping the rug from the boot of the Hispano and spreading it on the dockside.

"Call – Mac – Ship To Shore" he muttered breathlessly, rolling the body on to the rug in a manner that made her recall, too late, that she'd rather liked that rug. Had fond memories of a certain picnic.

"Ship To …oh. Right oh. On it."

She raced up the gangplank, and after taking a moment to recall the layout of the ship, made her way to the bridge. Sure enough, the ship's radio was working rather better than anything on the dockside appeared to be, and with the assistance of a perplexed but willing officer on watch, the connection and communication were made briskly. Within minutes, she was back on the dockside, officer now in tow. The poor lad couldn't help himself, after all.

"She's on her way – but Jack, don't you want anyone from City South?"

"No," he said tersely. "This is to be kept quiet." He glanced up and met the young officer's eyes; the sailor nodded his understanding, and took a couple of steps back in tacit signal that he was already aware of the situation. "In any case, he's dead." Jack then looked around. "What made the lights go out?"

"I don't know," she replied. "Shall I go and try and find out?"

"Yes – but be careful," he warned.

"Why, Jack? Why have I to be careful? Or of whom?"

"I'll … tell you later. Possibly."

She stood, hands on hips and stared him down.

"Probably."

She nodded firmly, and spun on her heel, torch in hand, to seek out the janitor in the gatehouse. She had little hope of finding him there, given that his first duty must be to get the power back on. She had reckoned without Mr Sowerby, though.

After all, she knew Mr Sowerby of old. Mr Sowerby was the man who had suggested that the missing corpse on a previous occasion had been eaten by rats (in the space of about half an hour). Mr Sowerby (partly) made up in odour what he lacked in intelligence, and was still sitting dutifully at his post in the pitch darkness.

She decided to attempt the direct approach.

"Mr Sowerby, turn the lights back on."

"Eh?" He was clearly perplexed at being identified by name, and craned to see who was speaking; but as it seemed to be unaccountably dark, apart from the torchlight shining in his eyes, he was none the wiser.

"Now, if you please, Mr Sowerby," insisted his tormentor – politely, but in a tone which brooked no argument.

Grumbling, he eased himself out of his chair and laboriously unlatched the door to the gatehouse. Still peering unsuccessfully to see who was ordering him about, he walked unhurriedly to the nearest brick building and felt along it to find a door. This he opened, and tried the light switch beside it a few times – unsurprisingly, to no avail.

Undaunted, he then walked forward into the pitch darkness, his feet followed by torchlight, until he came to a large metal lever on the opposite wall, which the torchlight showed to be painted bright red.

"Ah!" he said, with the air of one who had solved one of world's last great conundrums.

Grasping the lever with both hands, he pushed it downwards.

All the lights came on.

He turned to receive his due approbation from the torch-bearer – but she appeared to have vanished. He searched the room exhaustively, and looked all around when he left the building, but he was once more alone. Shaking his head in disgust at the unreliability of nature – especially the female incarnation – he resumed his seat, with his back once more firmly pointed to the building he'd just exited. He did so just in time to do his level best to try, and ultimately fail, to refuse entrance to the Coroner in the person of one Dr Elizabeth Macmillan.

Jack, when Phryne returned to the dockside, was already a symphony in gooseflesh.

"Chief Inspector," she muttered, "no matter how serious and secret your task, you're not going to complete it successfully if you catch pneumonia. Can I suggest at the very least replacing your shirt with your jacket and coat? I'd offer you a blanket but it appears already to be regrettably bloodstained, and I don't think my sables would suit you."

He drew breath to contradict her, but the effect was rather spoiled by a violent sneeze. He glared at her.

"It's not my fault, Jack!" she exclaimed. Then, mindful of their dutiful but silent audience, she grinned up at the young officer. "The Honourable Phryne Fisher – also known as Mrs Detective Chief Inspector Jack Robinson. If you could persuade my husband that a dip in the briny is more healthily taken in appropriate clothing and followed by getting dry, I'd be awfully grateful. Even more so if you could get him a change of clothes?"

The young man showed every sign of departing on the mission assigned, until Jack called him back.

"No! I need you here." Grumbling, he turned his back on them both and went to do his best to exchange wet garments for dry ones.

By the time he'd returned, rather oddly attired in shoes without socks and coat without shirt, Mac was upon them. Terse greetings exchanged, the Inspector provided a brief outline of the events of the past half hour.

"Sorry, Mac – I'd hoped there might be a life to save, but if you look at the back of his head …" apologised Jack. She gave him a glance, and gingerly turned the head, revealing a deep gash in the back of the skull, so bloody as to make Phryne bite her lip and the young naval officer catch his breath.

"I only want to know why you called for me on my own – I'm going to need the whole team here," complained the doctor.

"No, you're not, Mac," said Jack quietly. He turned to the officer. "What's your name?"

"Glanville, sir."

"Right, Mr Glanville, go and get another officer and a stretcher. We're taking this body to the ship's sick bay." When Mac started to argue, he held up a hand.

"I'll explain, Mac, but suffice to say, it might be a good idea for this to have been a shipboard death." He turned to Phryne. "I suppose it's useless to ask you to return home, Miss Fisher?"

"Out of the question, Jack. You have my dinner guest on board that ship, and in any case, you promised me an explanation."

"I didn't …" he caught her look and gave up. "Come on, then."

The words were grudging. Were it not for the tight grip he took on her hand as he led the way up the gangplank, she might even have been fooled into thinking he wasn't glad she was there.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

"Miss Fisher!" Captain Hollister's welcome was as warm as Jack's skin was cold – albeit the latter temperature was improving rapidly with the application of towel and a completely dry suit of clothes. The fact that the Inspector had elected to forgo the assistance of Mrs Robinson in Getting Out Of Those Wet Things, Jack gave her a hint, if nothing else had already laid them on thick, that all was not as it appeared on the good ship _Strathaird_.

"Jack said I might hear from you," Hollister exclaimed, striding across the anteroom to grasp her hand in both of his.

"Oh, he did, did he?" asked Phryne avidly. "I'm surprised he didn't mention it when he … left."

"Oh, you mean for the security detail?" asked Hollister. "Yes, I'm very much hoping that all proves unnecessary."

"I'm sorry to say, Captain, that it has proved both necessary and unsuccessful," said Jack quietly.

" _What_?" Hollister spun to face him. "Not …?"

"No," said Jack quickly. "No, but I'm afraid it's Fitzhugh. Dead."

Hollister's reaction reminded Phryne of the reason he was such a good ship's captain. No bluster, no blame – he pursed his lips and looked at the floor for a moment, then raised his eyes to Jack's face.

"How – Inspector?"

Jack's response was an equally straight bat. "A fall from one of the upper decks of the ship. His head hit a glancing blow, probably on the dockside, before he fell into the water." He tilted his head, as though knowing the next piece of news would be unwelcome. "I called the coroner to confirm the death, your own doctor being on shore leave as we agreed; but the body is now in the ship's hospital."

The mention of _coroner_ received a black look from the captain, so Jack hurried on.

"The coroner's discreet, and I'm confident we'll be able to rely on her to co-operate."

" _Her_?" Hollister had been served a series of googlies, and this one was a step too far.

"Yes, Captain." Jack's use of the honorific was purposeful – and successful. Judgement was put on the back-burner, and Hollister was all enquiring attention once more.

"What do we do next?"

"Dr Macmillan will hopefully be able to determine cause of death, and I want to go and have another look at the spot from which he fell. I'll also need to speak to the rest of the party individually to find out who was the last to see him."

"Is there anything I can do?"

"Or me, Jack?"

Hollister and Miss Fisher spoke almost in chorus. Jack looked from one to the other, debating internally.

"I wouldn't say no to a second pair of eyes at the scene of the fall, Miss Fisher, but only I can do the interviews. Captain, as long as I have your permission to remain on board …"

"Of course."

"… there is nothing more I would ask of you at this stage. In fact, you're at liberty to explain what you know of the situation to Miss Fisher, if you would?" He was clearly resigned to the secret having to be shared.

"In that case, Jack, I will come with you," announced Phryne, "but then steal the Captain away for dinner as originally planned."

Agreement having been reached, the two sleuths stepped back out onto the deck, and Jack led the way along the companionway, halting after a few paces to play his torch over the area.

"It was about here, I think."

Phryne moved past him, her own torch in hand. "I think you're right, Jack. Look!"

She was shining her torch on a pair of gentleman's patent leather shoes, lying abandoned by the ship's railing. They both crouched to look more closely at the shoes, then at each other.

"Suicide?"

"It has that look," agreed Jack; but then his brow furrowed. "I can't see why it would be, though." He played his torch around the rest of the deck, but it was bare of any further clues to the last moments of the man Fitzhugh.

"Why don't we check his cabin to see if there's a note?"

He shook his head. "I will. I'm sorry, Phryne, but I do need you off the ship."

She opened her mouth to protest, but he placed a gentle finger on her lips. "Hollister will explain. Believe me, there's nothing I would like more than to have you sharing this particular burden – and my bunk, come to that," his eyes softened for a moment, receiving an answering smile from her, "but I'd rather no-one else knew you were here. And please, no word to anyone at home."

She regarded him expressionlessly for a moment, then shrugged away her disappointment. "All right, Jack, I'll be good. But not for long!"

Glancing around the empty deck, he switched off his torch and caught her in a brief but blistering embrace. When he released her, they were both a little breathless.

"Thank you," he said simply. "Hollister knows the bare bones, and he'll fill you in. I'll be with you as soon as I can, but the job just got that bit harder."

She traced his cheek with a tender hand, made him a present of her most brilliant smile and turned away to fetch her dinner guest. The Chief Inspector watched her departure wistfully for a moment, then shook himself and departed in search of Fitzhugh's cabin.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

Conversation over the only-slightly-delayed dinner at 221B The Esplanade was wide-ranging, but sadly had to avoid the subject about which Miss Fisher was agog to learn. Hollister was pleased, but not surprised to learn that the sleuths had eventually married, and laughed out loud at the circumstances. Congratulations on the arrival of Elizabeth Jane were warmly delivered, and a photograph of a Hollister grandson proffered in exchange.

"Doesn't Mrs Hollister mind? You being away so much of the time?" asked Phryne curiously.

"Sometimes she comes with me – at least as far as the Mediterranean. She doesn't like hot countries much, so she tends to stay in Worthing in the summer; but we both have family nearby, and our son is in Brighton with his wife and young Kenneth, so it's not as though she's alone," he assured her. "That said, I'll be retiring before long. There's a ketch I've got my eye on coming up for sale – I'll happily keep my sea legs up on a sailing yacht instead."

He laid his spoon down and surveyed the Pavlova dish with ill-disguised regret. Phryne grinned, and rose to her feet.

"Mr Butler? We'll take coffee in the parlour, please."

Coffee poured and the doors closed, Phryne pounced.

"Right, James – I want to know what's going on. What's this about a security detail? Who is Jack protecting?"

Hollister grimaced.

"A Peer of the Realm, Phryne. I can't immediately recall how many steps away from the throne he is, but it's small enough to be significant."

"Oh? Which peer?" asked Phryne. "I know quite a lot of them. Socially, anyway."

"The Duke of Albemarle," replied Hollister. "That said, his visit here is very much political rather than social. He's been active in the House for a few years, and it was decided that he would be the right person to carry out this reconnaissance exercise."

"Dominic Neville? Really! Good Lord!" Phryne shook her head in patent disbelief.

"You know him?"

"God, yes," Phryne's smile became a little twisted as memories welled up. "Bless him. My mother had high hopes of Dom. He had high hopes too, but to his credit, he was that very rare thing – a rich and reasonably powerful man who understood the meaning of the word No once it had been explained to him very carefully." She grinned. "I _did_ have to use words of one syllable, though. Never tell me he's a politician now?"

"He is. And he's over here … taking the temperature," said Hollister carefully.

"Well, I hope someone's shown him which way round to hold the thermometer," remarked Phryne caustically. "Where do you come into this? Are you playing nursemaid?"

"No, no, nothing like that," said Hollister. "They're on my ship because it's flagged out of Tilbury, so essentially British jurisdiction."

"And they wanted a safe pair of hands in charge," suggested Phryne. "I don't blame them. Do you really need repairs? The fact that you've sent almost all the crew on shore leave suggests that you've tried to keep something quiet."

"You are as percipient as ever, Miss Fisher," said Hollister with reluctant admiration. "No, the people who know the full story are myself, the Duke's party, Jack and the Chief Engineer. He had to be in on it because he knows full well there's nothing wrong with his ship."

"What have you done with the passengers for Sydney?"

"Train," he replied succinctly. "We had a week's layover in Sydney anyway before starting the return trip, so this won't put us out, I hope."

"But why does Dom need security anyway? He's always struck me as being mostly harmless, especially if you don't give him anything sharp to play with."

"As I said, Phryne, it's a political question. There's so much discontent in the aftermath of the Crash that the Palace – well, both Palaces really – Westminster and Buck House – wanted to know how the land lies in their farthest outposts."

"And did you always mean to lay up here?"

"No. We had a coded message just before we arrived in Melbourne to say that there could be an uprising about to start in Sydney and we should delay arrival if possible. There's taking the temperature and there's fomenting a riot; discretion was definitely in order. That was when Jack came in."

"But if the problem's in Sydney, why did you need Jack?" Phryne objected.

"His job is to help us work out what to do next, and try to keep a protective eye in the meantime. He asked for more support, but was told it had to be kept quiet." Hollister met her eye straitly. "That's why it's not his fault that we have a dead body on our hands. It's a big ship, and he couldn't be everywhere at once."

Phryne was uncharacteristically silent for a few moments. Then she bit her lip.

"James, Jack needs me on your ship."

"Phryne, much as I would love to have you there, I have to let him run his own show."

"I know you do, and I accept that; but there's something I think he doesn't know. I can give you a message for him, but if you really want to help protect Dom, the best thing you can do is take me back with you."

Hollister stood, and paced to the window, hands clasped behind his back; then turned back to her.

"If you come on board, you have to stay on board. You have to get Jack's agreement to your being involved – and I leave that up to you." His smile didn't reach his eyes. "I've seen you together, and I have a rough idea what the discussion will sound like, so I'd have to put you in one of the first class cabins that are away from the Duke's party."

"Thank you, James." Her words were sincere.

"You're not there yet, Phryne. You need Jack to understand that you're not a threat to the Duke."

"Of course I'm not! The opposite, if anything."

"I don't mean you'd pull a weapon against him, Phryne. I mean that you might lead others to him. We already have one dead body. I don't yet know why, and I certainly don't want any more. If I take you back with me, we would need to get you on to the ship without anyone noticing, for a start."

She was chastised, and slumped in her seat.

He relented. "How soon can you be ready?"

She looked up at him and grinned widely, before leaping to her feet and throwing open the parlour doors.

"Mr Butler? Please could you drive the Captain back to the ship? He'll be ready in twenty minutes."

Glancing back over her shoulder, she winked at Hollister, then took the stairs two at a time.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

The Hispano-Suiza stopped briefly at the dock gates, before being allowed through to drive to the _Strathaird_ 's mooring. As it wound through the maze of warehouses and offices that populated the docks, it halted momentarily; then proceeded to halt finally at the foot of the gangplank.

Captain Hollister got out, and leaned through the window to thank Mr Butler warmly, and watched the car circle carefully on the dockside before starting back to St Kilda; then he strolled up the gangplank, swinging a small suitcase nonchalantly from his hand. He stopped by one of the forward cabins, then made his way to the bridge to receive his First Officer's report.

The dockside was once more silent. Only the very sharpest eyes would have seen a black-clad shadow detach itself from the nearest building and run to the foot of the gangplank, pausing to scan the area before tiptoeing on board and making its way to the self-same cabin the Captain had but recently visited. Phryne closed the door behind her, switched on the light and went to open the doors out to the balcony of the stateroom. Just as she had remembered, it was not overlooked; but with a hint of forethought, she closed the doors again, and went back to unpack the few things she had brought; then settled on the bed to wait, with barely-contained patience, for Jack.

And wait.

And wait.

She hadn't brought a book, because she didn't think she'd need one. Now she was starting to think she would go for anything in print, from _War and Peace_ to a religious pamphlet. There was, it turned out, a big difference to killing time on a cruise ship as a guest on open water, and waiting for one's spouse in dock with no catering staff, no ship's library and only a rather paltry decanter of sherry for distraction.

At long last, the soft knock sounded, and she ran to switch off the light and ease the door open. The person who slipped through it was promptly slammed back against the door they'd stepped through and resoundingly greeted. A few minutes later (yes, minutes. It had been at least an hour since the door had last opened) she released her captive.

"Did you know it was me?" asked Jack.

"Almost immediately," she replied.

"Almost?" he asked, slightly shocked.

"It was worth the risk," she said blithely. "Where _on earth_ have you been?"

He reached for the light switch, and when the room was illuminated, took the two steps to the bed and collapsed on to it.

"Not on earth. On boat, on water. On eggshells. I've been trying to tiptoe around the sensibilities of [the next section of Jack's monologue was removed by your editor in case anyone was of a nervous disposition, but let's just say he's been more fond of people from England than at this precise point] while at the same time trying to establish the whereabouts of [yes, them again] while one of their closest associates took a high dive from the wrong side of the boat for swimming." He bethought himself of a key issue.

"I take it Hollister has explained?"

She had settled herself on the side of the bed at his hip, and started loosening his tie. "Hollister told me a lot. What has he told you about my reply?"

He removed the arm he'd placed over his eyes and looked at her. "Just that you'd insisted you had valuable information and needed to talk it through." His tie resumed its almost-forgotten perch on the rubber plant as she flung it carelessly over her shoulder. "So, come on, Miss Fisher. Out with it."

"So impatient, Chief Inspector? I thought I'd start with your shirt but if you insist …" she reached for his waistband.

He grasped both her hands by the wrists and tried hard to glare; though the laughter in his eyes belied his actions.

"Willingly, Miss Fisher, but please … later?"

She grinned, and vaulted neatly over him to lie next to him, and propped her head on her hand.

"I'll let you off, just this once. Two things you need to know. First, when – Fitzhugh, you said?"

He nodded.

"When Fitzhugh decided to go swimming on the dockside. I was down there immediately before, and I've remembered something odd. Just before the lights went out, a light went _on_."

"Where? A cabin light?"

"No, not like that. There was a flash of light from one of the upper decks; and I'm almost sure that was where the body fell from."

He propped himself on his elbows and regarded her intently. "Go on. What sort of flash? A flare of some kind?"

"No, more like a torch going on and off again. Then the lights went off, and then Fitzhugh took his dive."

He tipped his head back, considering. "So, perhaps a signal to someone on the dock side?"

"Or an attempt to blind Fitzhugh temporarily? Remember, we didn't find a torch by his shoes, and if he took them off he wouldn't still carry a torch."

"To light his way into the next world? No, you're right," he agreed. "It's looking more like murder by the minute." Then he looked at his wristwatch. "Oh, Lord. I completely forgot."

Phryne sat up, and covered her mouth with her hand.

"Mac! She'll be stewing away in the sick bay with a corpse! Come on, Jack!"

"Wait, Phryne – you said there were two things you had to tell me?"

"The other one can wait. We need to relieve a rather irate doctor."

Their concern was misplaced, however. They arrived at the ship's hospital to find it in darkness. Phryne located the light switch, and they gazed on a pristine operating table, on which was propped a handwritten note, addressed to Detective Chief Inspector Robinson.

" _Dear Jack. It is now an hour since I finished my examination of_ [the words _your corpse_ were struck out] _(sorry, wishful thinking) the corpse you provided and I have given up waiting for you to seek my report. In case you remember having asked, I can tell you that the cause of death was the blow to the back of the head, which is likely to have been delivered by the edge of the dock, given its nature and my knowledge of the circumstances surrounding the deceased's final moments. He was dead when he hit the water. He is now in one of the empty refrigerators, I have appropriated Cabin 200, and will require scrambled eggs and coffee at 8am. Please don't feel obliged to prepare it yourself as I prefer my breakfast to be edible. Yours aye, Mac._

 _PS. He was in a punch up recently. Took a hefty sock to the chin, but from a fist, not the dock._

 _PPS. A bottle of decent Scotch will be required as fee for this. Instanter. The instanter the better._ "


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

Better informed but not noticeably chastised, the pair of sleuths started making their way back to Phryne's cabin, with a short detour via the bridge to leave a message to be passed to the galley about the doctor's breakfast requirements. As they were descending, though, a tall, broad-shouldered gentleman came along the companionway below, and stopped short when he saw them.

"Chief Inspector, I'm glad I've found you. A word ple … PHRYNE?"

"Hello, Dom, dear," she smiled, edging past Jack to plant a polite kiss on the Duke's cheek. Jack worked out quite rapidly what the Other Thing was that Phryne had had to tell him.

"Phryne," the Duke was nonplussed, which expression suited his face very well. "What … how … why …"

"Helping, by sneaking on board, because I was there when your man was killed, your Grace – to answer your questions in the order presented. Are you holding up all right, Dom?" she asked gently.

"Er – yes. Yes, I suppose so. So – you know the Inspector?"

Phryne grinned. "In every sense of the word. He's my husband."

"Oh!"

At this, Phryne took pity on him and, taking him by the hand, dragged him into the bar. "Come on, old thing, you need a stiff drink. Jack, can you fig out some whisky?"

Jack could and did, even without the benefit of a white-coated steward to wait on them. Settled in wing chairs around a small table, his Grace scrambled together enough wits to toast his never-was inamorata and the very businesslike policeman whose expression seemed to become decidedly unbusinesslike when it landed on the Honourable Phryne Fisher. His Grace's good wishes were just as graciously accepted.

"So, your Grace, what was it you wanted to ask me?" prompted Jack.

"Please – I know we need a chain of command and all that," complained Albemarle hastily, "but I can't have Phryne's husband 'your-Grace'-ing me all over the place. Call me Dominic." This drew a doubtful look from the Chief Inspector. "Oh, very well then – Albemarle? The chaps call me Ally, but that wouldn't be right."

"Then I'm Robinson, and thank you. But you had something to ask me?"

"Well, yes," the Duke admitted, and sat back in his chair, glass in hand. "I'm just not clear how on earth the protestors could have got word that we were here. We've been so careful."

The Chief Inspector relaxed into his wing chair and sipped gratefully at the whisky that, coincidentally, happened to be one of his all-time favourites. At long last, he was in an environment where he was being given the chance to mull the problem instead of searching for a way forward in (sometimes literally) pitch darkness.

"As I see it, Albemarle, you have only three possibilities. The evidence Miss Fisher and I have amassed suggests that there were two people involved in the killing of Clarence Fitzhugh: one on the ship, and one on the dock who extinguished the lights at the key moment. So, either you have someone wishing to attack your people, who managed to sneak an assassin on to the ship …"

"Or," Phryne took up the exposition, "there are people on the ship who want to scupper the reconnaissance mission, who sent someone down to the dock to switch off the lights and cause confusion?"

"Or there's someone on the ship who's in cahoots with the anti-Royalists," said Jack finally. "But that would need them to be in contact with someone on land, and that's difficult."

For a moment, silence reigned and the brain processes were enhanced by the heavenly result of combining malted barley with water.

"Jack?"

"Mmm?"

"You know who we should ask?"

He paused, and then looked at her in disbelief.

"Phryne, this isn't about race fixing or hooch smuggling. You can't ask Bert and Cec."

"But if anyone has an in …?"

Jack put his glass down and hid his face in his hands.

"Er, Phryne?" The Peer of the Realm had recognised that there was a conversation going on, but for him conversation would generally involve topics such as The Weather and Everybody's Health, so there were gaps he was struggling to fill and he was relying on Miss Fisher to get out a nice bright red crayon for him.

She pulled a face. "I have a couple of friends who would hate to meet you, Dom. Or at least, they'd love to meet you, on condition that they'd be at liberty to string you up from the nearest lamp post and ask questions later."

"Oh dear," he said. "Well, if you think I should?"

She then realised why he was Going Places in politics. He might not have revolutionary ideas, but he was prepared to talk to anyone at all if it was for The Good Of The Nation. Even if it might hurt in the neck department. She resolved there and then to find him a nice, conformable wife who would know precisely where to seat a Baron compared to a Deacon at a dinner table and still have time left over to tell him he was Terribly Clever and make sure his undergarments were freshly pressed.

As it were.

"Hopefully it won't come to that. I think that Jack or I should have the conversation. I do feel, though, that it wouldn't be unreasonable to have someone checking more closely who's coming and going on that gangway," remarked Phryne. "Jack, do you think James Hollister could spare an officer? Or do we need to rope in that Sergeant of yours?"

Jack nodded. "I'll get Collins detailed. With Fitzhugh dead, I won't even have to argue about the need for more security, and one good officer will make the world of difference." He stood and excused himself to head for the ship's radio.

Phryne watched him leave, and the Duke watched Phryne.

"It was never me, was it, my dear?"

She glanced back at him, momentarily startled. Then smiled. "No, Dominic. Sorry. It wouldn't ever have been you." She looked back at the closed door, as though the Chief Inspector would suddenly materialise on the threshold. "It wasn't supposed to have been anyone. I was going to be resolutely free and single and absurdly happy. It was only when the first two conditions started fighting with the last one in earnest that I had to have a rethink."

She turned back to him, and tipped her head in thought. "I'd have been wrong for you anyway." He started making polite demur. "No, shush, Dom, don't talk nonsense. There's a girl out there who ..." she narrowed her eyes as she formed the strategy, "… doesn't know you that well – you've probably only danced with her a couple of times at the Caledonian Ball – or something," she added vaguely. "She'll be doing a dutiful Season but would rather be doing dinners at the family estate, because she loves to cook." Phryne was warming to the theme now. "A girl who can scale a fish, skin a hare, dance the 51st and still have energy left over for charades and a sing-song round the piano."

"Gosh." His Grace was struck by the thought. "D'you know, it's funny?"

"What's funny?"

"There was this lovely girl last year – not at the Caledonian Ball, but up in Oban."

"Really?" Phryne smiled with mild interest. _Arabella, Dom. Her name is Arabella Egerton_.

"Yes. Very jolly. Araminta?"

"I don't think I know ..." said Phryne doubtfully.

"No! Arabella. I'm almost sure it was Arabella."

"Now you mention it, don't the Egertons have a daughter of that name?"

"Egerton! That's it. Arabella Egerton. Delightful girl. Very sensible."

Her work done, Phryne dispensed with her whisky, her glass and her companion as soon as was feasible in the scope of good manners, and escaped as quickly as she could to her cabin.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

"Jack?"

"Mmm?"

"I still think we should speak to the red-raggers."

There was a short silence, before Mr Robinson rolled over onto his side and slitted his eyes open to see if Mrs Robinson was being serious or just having a particularly unconventional dream; and at the same time, thanked his stars once more that she'd managed to argue her way into this particular crime scene, because it made the nights so very much more bearable – albeit a little more sleepless.

"Phryne, I still think we really, really shouldn't," he said. "If they know something, they won't want to tell us – and if they don't, are you suggesting we send them out to ask questions of potential murderers?"

"That wouldn't scare them!" she scoffed.

"I know, but if anything happens to them, it's on me." He pushed up on to the pillows and drew her in under his arm. "And they don't have any idea what 'cautious' means."

"I think Cec interprets it as fists-not-firearms."

"Precisely."

"Let me at least go and ask the question," she urged. "I can leave before it gets light, and work out how to get back on board without anyone seeing me."

"Phryne, which part of 'No' are you struggling with?"

"The part that says we don't use our best lead to the leftists to try to find out how Fitzhugh died," she said stubbornly. "Come on, Jack. You know 'Yes' is _your_ favourite word." She grinned mischievously. "I could remind you if you like. You were very enthusiastic about using it a little while ago."

He groaned. "Are you going to let up on this, or just keep pestering?"

She sat up and gave him a hard stare. "I never pester," she said with a dignity rather at odds with her state of undress. "I am merely consistent in insisting."

He had to laugh at that.

Consistent Insistence having won the day, Miss Fisher slunk down the gangplank at an hour which could be described either as Late Night or Early Morning, depending on whether sleeping was part of the equation. Flagging down a taxi took a while, but she made it back to The Esplanade just as dawn was breaking. She left a note for Mr Butler asking him to telephone the red-raggers and went to snatch a nap.

Consequently, she was able to present a moderately human face when Bert and Cec turned up for a brew later that morning.

"Bloody Royals?" asked Bert with disgust. "Enemies of the downtrodden. Oughter be strung up."

"Yes, I thought that was what you'd say," agreed Phryne calmly. "To his credit, this particular chap, when told what your reaction would be, was offering to see you anyway."

"Not spineless, then," remarked Cec.

"No," confirmed Phryne. "If perhaps a little chinless."

"So, was the bloke who croaked a Royal as well? Happy days," said Bert aggressively.

"No man is an island, Bert, dear. Ask not for whom the bell tolls and all that. And no, he was an equerry. A soldier."

"Well that's different," replied Bert. "Why didn't you say so?"

"I'm saying now, and I'm getting from this that you'd not heard a word about them being here," said Phryne.

"Not a peep," said Bert. "Happy to ask around, though."

"Carefully, Albert, please," said Phryne. "I just need to know who knows they're here – so we need to find that out without divulging what we know. Think you can do it?"

"No worries," said Cec. "We can just chat about the boat. Ask what's wrong with her, that sorta thing."

Bert snorted. "Take them a while to build a new engine for that beaut."

Phryne looked at him. "Do you know, Bert, you've given me the most marvellous idea."

She sent them on their way to ask some questions, and with one rather unusual request of her own to be fulfilled before they started. That part was easily dealt with, and while the red-raggers did the rounds of the usual hostelries, Miss Fisher put on her oldest clothes and asked Mr Butler for a tin of black paint.

After a light lunch, her afternoon was spent in art work, and she even managed to fit in a trip to the foreshore with Elizabeth before the red-raggers were due to return. The tot was starting to chatter properly these days – sometimes even comprehensibly – and was a fascinating combination of her father's careful accuracy and her mother's gleeful experimentation. So, not yet having seen a castle, the construction was referred to as a "sand-house", while a request for "brown ice" was correctly interpreted as a lack of chocolate ice cream. Phryne couldn't fault her daughter's singularity of thinking, even if she was more of a vanilla fan, personally; and they returned from the strand much refreshed, if a little grubby, to find Bert and Cec waiting for them.

Relinquishing Elizabeth to her nurse's care and shouting to Soo to run a quick bath, please, Phryne sat down with a cup of tea at the kitchen table.

"Tell all," she demanded.

"Nothing to tell," said Bert gloomily. "Apart from a couple of blokes who thought they'd get work on the repairs and haven't seen hide nor hair of anything, and another one who's working at a hotel where some of the crew are putting up, who doesn't understand why they're not staying on board during their leave, there's nothing. Sorry, Miss Fisher." He slumped back in his chair. Cec was leaning against the dresser, nursing a mug of tea while wishing it was beer, and roused himself enough to mutter agreement.

"Can't be helped," said Phryne briskly. "Knowing what it isn't is half the battle. And you're sure you didn't blab to anyone about the Duke's party being on board?"

"Whaddaya take us for?" asked Bert indignantly.

Phryne extended a soothing hand. "Friends, Bert. I had to ask. If the Chief Inspector has any more fatalities to deal with because of this exercise, it won't just be my neck on the line, it'll be his, too."

She stood. "Right, I need to get back to the ship. Can you two hang on for half an hour? I'll take a quick bath and change, and then I'm going to need you to make a delivery to the dockyards."

A little later, the two cabbies hauled a wooden crate, which appeared to be quite heavy, into the back of the taxi. It was clearly marked "MACHINE PARTS" and "THIS WAY UP" and "WITH CARE". They certainly did the last two, even if the first wasn't precisely accurate.

The two gentlemen of unsavoury appearance who stood across the road and watched their departure with interest were not remarked.

Which was a pity.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

The Chief Engineer was mildly surprised to see a crate arriving with spares he hadn't ordered; and was even more surprised to see the crate being delivered, not to the engine room, but to the passenger deck. A muttered word in the Chief Inspector's ear by one of the delivery men as he made his hasty exit, though, made the policeman snort with laughter and request a claw hammer.

The Machine Parts proved to have changed into a nifty, practical and practically naval trouser suit of navy silk, and came out of the crate with the immortal line,

"Hello, Jack!"

Ever the gentleman, Jack helped Miss Fisher extricate herself from her temporary prison, and once she'd stretched her limbs, she consented to be seated in one of the bar's comfier armchairs to give an update.

"Not much to tell, though," she admitted. "There are a few whispers going around the waterfront about the oddness of the ship's maintenance, but absolutely nothing that Bert and Cec could divine about any of the special passengers."

There was a short silence between them, after which Miss Fisher glanced at the Chief Inspector with a speculative look in her eye.

"Jack, could you spare me a moment in my cabin?" He began to demur, but she halted him with a finger on his lips. "Just for once, this isn't about having my wicked way with you," she whispered.

Intrigued, he took the hand at his lips in his and led her from the saloon down to her cabin, at a decorous pace. The door once again closed behind them, she embraced him fondly.

When she stepped back, he raised his eyebrows. "Hello to you, too, Miss Fisher, but I thought you said that you had a different reason to be here?"

She glanced at the balcony doors to ensure they were shut, and turned back to him, speaking softly.

"I do. Jack, it's basic logic. If there really isn't a murderer on the dockside here in Melbourne, then there's only one other option."

He blinked, and mirrored her own quiet tones – they were painfully aware of the thinness of the wooden walls, even if there wasn't supposed to be anyone on the other side. "A murderer on board?"

She nodded. "And if it's not one of Hollister's hand-picked, skeleton crew …"

"…it's one of Albemarle's party."

As realisation dawned, he stumbled to one of the armchairs and collapsed into it,

She regarded him for a moment, then sat to remove her shoes, settled back on the bed, folded her arms and waited.

When he became aware of the resounding silence, he raised his head and saw her watching him.

"Come on, then, Jack – you've interviewed them. Who killed Fitzhugh?"

He steepled his fingers and gazed into the distance, then dug his notebook out of his pocket.

"Well, there are four of them now – five before. Albemarle, obviously; and Fitzhugh was reporting directly to Buckingham Palace; there's also Calloway, the Prime Minister's representative. Then there's Marston, Albemarle's private secretary; and lastly as courier, dogsbody, call him what you like – and they mostly do – there's John Sinclair."

"And where were they all when the murder took place?"

He had his notebook open at the page, but didn't need to refer to it. "Albemarle was in the Terrace Bar on D Deck, and the others were coming and going, apart from Calloway."

"Oh?" asked Phryne. "The PM's man? What was he up to?"

"Nothing at all. He was laid up with a stomach bug in his cabin."

"Where was his cabin? Were they near each other?"

"Yes – all on C deck, Port side."

Phryne stood, shoved her hands into her trouser pockets and wandered to gaze out of the closed doors onto the balcony.

"Thinking back to the murder, Jack. If the flash of light I saw was someone trying to dazzle Fitzhugh before overpowering him – which of the Duke's men would you say was physically capable?"

Jack pondered briefly. "Not Marston – he lost an arm in the war, so he couldn't hold a torch and throw a punch at the same time – but any of the others – including the Duke himself."

Phryne shook her head. "I know you have to suspect him, Jack, but I honestly can't lay this at Dominic's door. He's a gentle giant, and would be genuinely upset and send flowers if he knowingly hurt a fly."

He pulled a face. "Well, in that case, that only leaves Sinclair."

She swung round to face him. "Or Calloway. Did anyone vouch for him being in his cabin?"

Jack shook his head. "Remember how few people there are on board."

"Well," said Phryne firmly, "I think we want to have a quiet word with Messrs Sinclair _and_ Calloway."

She stooped to put her shoes back on, which left Jack as the only one available when a thundering of feet in the corridor was followed by a hammering at the door. He snatched it open, to find a pale-faced Hollister.

"Jack, Phryne, thank God I've found you! I've had a message from Russell Street police station – there's been a break-in."

" _What?_ " said Jack. "Where?"

"At your home. Someone tried to kidnap your little girl."

He was thrust aside unceremoniously as both sleuths pushed past him and sprinted for the stairs to F Deck and the gangplank.

"They're sending a car …" he called after them.

They didn't appear to have heard, as neither stopped running when they reached the dockside; the bells of the approaching police car were the only thing that stopped them sprinting all the way to St Kilda.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

Jack had his latchkey out as they ran up the path of 221B, but the door was flung wide by Mr Butler as they approached.

"Sir, Miss, it's all right, she's fine," he said quietly, calmly. "We're all – fine."

As he spoke, the nurse Mary-Lou came through from the direction of the kitchen, carrying a small bundle in a pretty blue sailor dress, who squealed with excitement at seeing her mother _and_ her father. She flung her chubby arms wide, almost hitting Mary-Lou in the face, but the nurse only smiled and handed the child into her mother's waiting arms.

Phryne reminded herself not to hug too tightly, and closed her eyes to keep the tears of relief at bay. Jack had no such pride, and Elizabeth's hair was a little damp when he released them both from his all-enveloping embrace.

He then turned to Mr Butler with a question in his eyes; the factotum inclined his head towards the parlour doors which stood slightly ajar. Jack took a couple of paces, to survey the room; wherein he found Lin Soo calmly supervising two gentlemen who were lying on their faces, arms and legs securely bound and gags preventing what would otherwise doubtless have been some fairly colourful curses reaching any of the ladies' ears. The maid held a gun with deceptively loose grip, trained on them both.

Jack returned to the front door and gave a two-fingered whistle in the direction of the waiting police car. An enquiring head appeared at the passenger window.

"Sergeant, come here and bring your constable with you."

Sergeant Collins sprung out of the car and reported to the Chief Inspector for duty.

"Relieve Miss Lin, please, Collins – but don't take the prisoners away just yet. Miss Fisher and I will want a word, just as soon as we've settled our daughter."

Collins saluted smartly, and Soo relinquished the firearm, joining Jack and Phryne in the hallway.

"Will you and Tobias wait for us in the kitchen please, Soo?"

"Of course, Mr Jack," she gave a graceful little bow and headed for the kitchen, flexing what appeared to be aching arm muscles as she went. Jack observed her movements with a frown, but then followed Phryne, who was already heading up the stairs with Elizabeth in her arms.

She appeared reluctant to give her back to Mary Lou, until the nurse whispered, "It's all right, Ma'am. Really it is. She was never even in the same room with those two crims. Mr Butler and Miss Lin did it all."

Still, it wasn't until bath time was well under way that they could tear themselves away, and only then because the need to find out how on earth their child had been placed in danger was so urgent.

A fresh pot of tea was sitting on the kitchen table, and all those present took a cup gratefully.

"Mr Butler, please sit down," said Phryne firmly.

"Miss, I …"

"Yes, you can. I need to talk to you and I'll get a crick in my neck if you don't come down to my level."

Thus admonished, Tobias Butler Sat In The Presence Of Miss Fisher. The absence of thunderclaps and lightning strikes suggested that the world wasn't instantly about to end; but the chair-back at no time was troubled by him leaning against it.

"Right," said Jack. "What happened?"

Soo and Tobias exchanged glances. In the end, it was she who spoke up.

"The vermin came to the front door. They were foolish. They had not assessed the ground or their enemy, and thought to take us unprepared and so win the fight."

Phryne recognised a student of Sun Tzu when she met one, and felt fear and anxiety dissipating into her more usual state of interested calm. Almost unconsciously, she relaxed a little in her seat, and listened as though to a lantern lecture.

"Tobias answered the door, and they threatened him with a knife." From her expression, one might have surmised that the knife was the cardboard sort that a child would play pirates with. "He spoke to them very loudly, so that I could hear from the kitchen. I left, and went to the nursery."

"Through the hall? Didn't they see you?" asked Jack, confused.

"No, through the window," she corrected him calmly. "I took the nurse and the child to your bathroom, because to have them leave the house would have meant the nurse climbing down, and she cannot do that."

Phryne thought of Mary-Lou's statuesque frame, and agreed with a twitch of the lips.

"They were to remain there in quietness – the child has a mouse game that they play. This is very good."

Jack thanked his stars for the second time in two days, this time that Elizabeth adored playing hide-and-seek.

"I then went to the garden. Tobias saw me approach and allowed them into the hallway, where they were trapped. So they were caught, and bound. That is all."

Jack and Phryne exchanged glances, and she reached for Mr Butler's hand where it encircled his teacup. Examining the knuckles, she found them to be grazed and bloodied. Soo's eyes followed the gesture, and with an exclamation of disgust, she jumped up to fetch the kitchen's First Aid box. Ignoring proceedings from then on, she began to apply salve and dressings to the wounds, muttering a constant scold all the while.

Mr Butler allowed her to do so, his colour only a little heightened.

Jack cleared his throat. "Did … they say anything about how they found us?"

Mr B looked up from his fixed gaze at Soo's handiwork. "Only the slightest reference in passing, sir. One of them said they'd been told to look out for the policeman – I'm assuming they meant you, sir – and that they knew you were 'shacked up with that society dame'." He was given back his hand, duly dressed, and after only a little prompting, reluctantly presented the other one, which was in almost as bad a state.

"I'm afraid I don't know what they hoped to achieve by taking Miss Elizabeth, though," he said apologetically.

"Don't worry, Mr B, I think I'm starting to have an inkling about that," said Phryne briskly. Rising to her feet, she dragged her husband into the dining room, closing the kitchen door behind her. He looked at her quizzically. "Oh, come on, Jack, let's give them a bit of privacy so that she can tell him off properly!" she whispered.

"I still don't know how you cope with having your domestic staff pursue one another romantically," he said hopelessly.

"Jack, you're starting to sound like Aunt Prudence," she accused. "And they're your staff too. The answer is, they're human beings and they're living their lives. Oh, and they have just saved our daughter from a horrid fate, so I'd say that's worth a few minutes with the kitchen door closed, don't you?"

Duly chastised, he changed the subject as quickly as possible. "So, what's your idea about the kidnappers?"

She paused, and leaned back against the window-ledge. "It's just an idea, but I think it's worth exploring with those two low-lifes in there. What if Fitzhugh was actually the bad guy in all this?"

Jack frowned, then raised his eyes to hers, alert. "On the balance of probabilities, the idea of there being more than one villain among the Duke's party has to be unlikely?"

"Precisely. What if Fitzhugh was the one who'd been leaking information to the left, and the others took it on themselves to – well, take him out of the equation?"

"But before they did, he'd already told the activists about me and – by extension – you." The words were out before he'd thought them through – she could see it happen, and also see what happened when he realised what he'd said; the implication of the danger to his family purely as a function of his job.

The shutters came down. The jaw clenched. He averted his gaze.

She moved in, but only far enough to place a hand on his where it rested on the back of one of the dining chairs.

"That's for later, Jack – if we're right," she whispered. "I think we should go and make sure we've got it right first – don't you?"

When he didn't immediately respond, she moved a little closer and touched her cheek to his; and simply stood, quietly warming his soul via the medium of his heart. At length, he took a deep breath and drew back.

"Very well, Miss Fisher," he said, in chilly tones that told her the battle hadn't even been joined. "Let's go and ask some stupid men some clever questions."


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven**

"They _what_?"

The Duke of Albemarle was aghast.

Jack repeated his statement. "They had planned to offer our baby daughter in exchange for you."

"And then there was the charming idea that they would return you to your Sovereign only on condition that he would relinquish all claim to sovereignty over Australia," chipped in Phryne helpfully.

"But that's _high treason_!" pronounced Albemarle.

"Actually, treason plain and simple, these days, Dom," explained Phryne, "but still a hanging offence, so go right ahead. I confess I feel rather more strongly about their threat against my daughter than against the King, but it amounts to the same thing in the end."

Albemarle looked wildly to the Chief Inspector.

"But who … how …?"

Jack raised his head. "I think before we go any further, we need to ask Calloway to join us. Also Sinclair."

"But of course – whatever you say," stammered the Duke, rising to his feet and shouting for a messenger.

Phryne stood and wandered around the bar while they waited; thus she happened to be behind the door when the two men entered. The taller of the two, a fair-haired man in his early forties, advanced to greet the Duke and the Chief Inspector; the other, however, noted Phryne's presence as soon as he came through the door, and observed her for a moment before offering greetings to the other gentlemen.

"William, John – you know the Chief Inspector, but you've not met …" Albemarle turned to Phryne and realised he hadn't quite grasped her professional style. Stepping forward, she rescued him seamlessly.

"The Honourable Phryne Fisher, gentlemen" she gave her best society smile. Noting Sinclair's expression, which remained a blank, she relented. "Lady Detective. Also Mrs Detective Chief Inspector Jack Robinson." Having helped him out, she returned fire with both barrels. "Does that tell everything you need to know, Mr … Sinclair?"

Whatever imp prompted her to hesitate over his name, the shaft found its mark. He met her gaze under hooded eyes for a moment, then smiled slightly.

"John Sinclair at your service, Miss Fisher."

"For the moment at least," she parried.

Neither of them bothered to clarify whether it was the name, or the service that was temporary.

Or both.

Phryne decided that, having gained the upper hand, she might as well hang on to it.

"So, gentlemen," she resumed her wing chair and favoured the two recent arrivals with an enquiring look, "when was it exactly that you decided to execute the traitor, Clarence Fitzhugh?"

The responses were everything she could have hoped for.

Jack said nothing, but kept his eyes on Calloway, who glanced immediately at Sinclair. Albemarle expostulated. Phryne was watching Sinclair, who didn't bat an eyelid.

What he _did_ do, though, was to wander to the doors and check that the companionway was unoccupied, before returning to the table and dragging across another chair, indicating to Calloway to do likewise. He then went behind the bar and poured himself a glass of red wine; without asking, he supplied the rest with Scotch. The Duke and Phryne were given a splash of branch water, Calloway and Jack took theirs neat.

"You've done your research, Mr Sinclair," remarked Jack as he accepted the glass.

"Proper preparation prevents poor performance, Chief Inspector," replied Sinclair. " _Slainthe_ ".

They raised their glasses and he settled back into his chair.

"Almost as soon as we docked," he said. Then turned his head. "To answer your question, Miss Fisher. We'd had our doubts about Fitzhugh's loyalties, but it wasn't until we found out he'd sent a radio signal to Sydney without going through due protocol that we looked more closely. We were still at sea, so there was time to plan ahead for the Melbourne stopover; and we had to pretend we'd had a signal to tell us to wait here."

He sipped from his glass and gazed appreciatively at the ruby liquid. "I arranged for the radio to be left unattended as soon as the ship was clear of passengers, and Fitzhugh immediately used it to send a message to an address here in Melbourne."

"I was on board by then," Jack pointed out, and glanced at Phryne. _You were all in danger from that moment_. She met his gaze, but Sinclair was speaking again.

"We had to contain the problem," Sinclair said simply. "Unfortunately, the proof Fitzhugh had provided of his crime put the Duke in even more danger; the first thing we had to do was get Fitzhugh out of the way."

"You sent Calloway on shore to kill the lights at the right moment," prompted Phryne.

He didn't even bother to deny it. "Yes. We'd hoped to make it look like a suicide, but that required cover of darkness – and less investigation."

"What were you saying about Proper Preparation, Mr Sinclair?" Phryne asked sardonically.

He inclined his head in acknowledgement of another hit.

"I admit we underestimated the local constabulary," was all he would say. Then he grinned, and his whole face lit for a moment. "Sorry, Inspector."

"This is all very well, Sinclair," Albemarle broke in, having contained his choler with difficulty as the tale was told, "but you're talking about one of the King's equerries! How am I supposed to explain that my men bumped him off, when I get back to the Palace?"

"First, sir," said Sinclair, "you won't have to tell them. They already know."

Albemarle's jaw dropped, but Sinclair was still talking. "He will be accorded a burial at sea as soon as we're in international waters, with full military honours, after a tragic accident." He eyed Jack and Phryne assessingly. "The accident will be deemed to have happened at sea as well. I take it Dr Macmillan will be prepared to acquiesce?"

"I think we can be confident of that," replied Jack carefully.

"She prefers Islay to Speyside," mentioned Phryne candidly.

"So noted," confirmed Sinclair solemnly. There was nothing at all in the smile he gave her to suggest that he already knew that, too.

Albemarle looked from one to the other as he struggled to keep pace with the discussion; Phryne bit her lip and longed to take him comfortingly by the hand and offer him a butterscotch lolly.

"Are we still going to Sydney?" he asked finally.

"Yes, sir," affirmed Sinclair, and Calloway broke his silence to intervene.

"The PM's keen for that part of the exercise to continue as planned. Turning tail at this stage sends exactly the wrong message, and we're hoping that with Fitzhugh out of the way, the rabble-rousers' guns will be spiked. In fact," he warmed to his subject, "we could turn it into a very positive event. Carrying on despite tragedy and so forth …"

He realised that there was metaphorical tumbleweed rolling across the bar area as all those present looked at him with expressions ranging from astonished to askance, and subsided with a quiet, " _well, yes, anyway, we should certainly continue …_ "

"And the would-be kidnappers in my cells?" asked Jack mildly.

"Ah, yes," said Sinclair. "We'd quite like to take them home with us, Chief Inspector, if you didn't mind? The thing is, if they're charged with attempted kidnapping, the story might come out, and I well see that you can't hold them indefinitely without charge."

"You're right," agreed Jack, "and frankly, you can have them and welcome – as long as you can handle the paperwork."

Phryne glared at him, but he only raised an eyebrow.

 _I'm not having you charged with murder on my watch, Miss Fisher – thanks all the same_.

She sulked all the way back to the bar and retrieved the rest of the whisky bottle; although Mr Sinclair, in line with his Secret Service training, moved on to water.


	12. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

"Are we going to have to protect Elizabeth all her life?" sighed Jack.

"Well, no – not _all_ of her life. Once she's learned some hand to hand fighting, how to use a firearm and a throwing knife …" Phryne's voice died away as a glare from the Inspector accurately reflected how he viewed what she thought were eminently practical suggestions – albeit the student in question had yet to master flinging porridge accurately, so a throwing knife was probably still a little further down the track.

He generously moved on as though she hadn't spoken. "There's financial protection too, of course. Have you made a will?"

"I've made several, Jack. It's something of a hobby. In the latest one, you get half and Jane and Elizabeth split the remainder. After the usual bequests to friends and retainers, of course."

"You'll have to explain, Miss Fisher. Never having had any retainers, I'm not sure what degree of recognition is appropriate."

"Well, Dot gets my share of the assets of Fisher & Williams. Bert and Cec get a lump sum and a stern instruction to spend no more than half of it on beer. Soo gets my offensive weapons."

"Soo is your maid."

"She's also very handy with a firearm, as we have both witnessed, and I'm not having you moping over my pearl-handled revolver, Jack."

"This is all becoming … rather morbid. What about Mr Butler?"

"Mr B gets the car."

"You're giving Mr Butler the Hispano?"

"No, Jack, I'm _leaving_ Mr Butler the Hispano in my will."

He'd gone quiet. What had started out as a joke had become … disturbingly sober.

"I like the Hispano."

"I know you do. I'm leaving it to Mr Butler."

"So if I want to drive it, I'll have to ask him?"

"Worse than that, Jack – you'll have to take him with you."

" _What?_ "

"He is left the car on condition that he will, if at all possible, respond to any wish you have to travel in it, either as a passenger or at the wheel, for as long as you wish to do so – and he has to be with you when you do."

He blinked, and looked at her with furrowed brow; then down at his hands, trying to imagine life without her. Then he stood, and walked to the window and looked out of it at the beautiful car parked at the kerbside. For long minutes, neither of them said anything. Then he spoke again.

"Are you a witch, Miss Fisher?"

"No, Jack. Just quite good at reading people. It might indeed be a glorious way to go, but I'm not having you drive yourself into oblivion if I happen to do something foolish."

"Even more foolish than usual."

"As you say. You should make a will."

"Mine would be easy."

"Oh?"

"Yes. I'd just leave my relatively minimal worldly wealth to Elizabeth. You can be her trustee, and try to make it worth something by the time she reaches her majority."

"Nothing for me, Jack?"

He turned and gave her a half-smile. "Oh yes. I have a specific bequest for you."

He strolled out to the hallway and returned, hands behind his back. Taking up a stance beside the fireplace, he beckoned her over with a tilt of the head. When she rose to her feet and joined him, a question in her eyes, he only lifted a hand to beckon her closer. She edged forward until they were almost toe-to-toe; at which point, he brought his other hand up and settled his hat on her head. Leaning back and considering, he tipped the brim forward a little more over one eye.

"Perfect."

She didn't smile back.

"I still prefer it on you, Jack."

"Then let's neither of us go anywhere any time soon, hmm?"

"Does that include the boudoir?"

"Possibly excluding the boudoir. In fact, specifically and immediately excluding the boudoir. I feel in need of some life-affirming activity."

"Affirmative, Inspector. Look lively."


End file.
